


Outliving The Universe

by Dreamflower



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-10
Updated: 2007-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:16:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1623827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamflower/pseuds/Dreamflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Susan, after The Last Battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outliving The Universe

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to my friend, Dana for her encouragement and for giving me the nudge to enter Yuletide. And a big thanks to my beta, Odessie for her excellent beta!
> 
> Written for bantha fodder

 

 

Susan stood at the bottom of the steps, hesitating. Perhaps this had been a mistake. Perhaps she should do what everyone kept telling her to do--put it all behind her and move on with her life. The funerals had been weeks ago--why stir it all up again? That was what her boyfriend Derek had told her, when she informed him of the memorial service.

_"In Oxford?" His tone had been incredulous and dismissive. Susan thought perhaps he had been a bit resentful of her brothers being at university, when Derek had gone to work directly after leaving school._

"Yes," she'd said, "after all, it's where my brothers were at university. And where Professor Kirke had taught. Peter and Edmund's friend called me, and thought I might like to attend..." Her voice trailed off. "I thought you might drive me up?" she asked timidly. She'd been hopeful before she mentioned it to him, but now she was doubtful that he'd agree.

"I don't think I can skive off work again," had been his response.

She'd dissolved into tears at this, and he had comforted her with caresses, but all he said was, "See, this is what I mean. You have to let it all go, or you'll keep on going to pieces like this."

Yet somehow, she could not miss the chance to see her brothers honoured once more, and so she had gathered up all her courage to travel by train--the first time since the accident...

"Miss Pevensie?"

"Yes."

"I'm Richard Graham." Susan looked up to see an earnest young man with dark hair and grey eyes, studying her with concern.

She offered a hand, which he took briefly. "I am glad," he said, "to get a chance to finally meet you, though I could wish for better circumstances. Shall we go in?"

Susan nodded, scarcely sparing a glance for the magnificent building. Magdalen Chapel was imposing, a far cry from the parish church of her childhood, and she remembered Peter describing it in glowing terms. But her heart was too heavy at present to admire architecture.

As they entered the chapel, they were greeted by a distinguished-looking older man. He was tall, with a good deal of presence.

"Miss Pevensie," said Richard, "this is Professor Lewis. He was a great friend of Professor Kirke. Professor, this is Miss Susan Pevensie, Peter and Edmund's sister."

The professor enveloped her hand with both his large ones. There was an expression of kindly sympathy and understanding in his eyes that touched Susan, and caused her eyes to spark with the tears that were so often close to the surface these days.

"I am so sorry for your loss, Miss Pevensie--not only your brothers, but your entire family, and good friends as well."

She looked up at him, and realized that somehow he did understand the enormity of it all, but all she could manage was a nod of her head. She was afraid words would choke her.

He seemed to understand that as well, and went on to say, "Digory always spoke highly of your family. I think that he looked upon you and your brothers and sister as the children he never had."

Dear Professor Kirke! The last time he had visited the family, she had introduced Derek to him. He had given her such a knowing look, and it had rankled. But he had been very polite, and spoken to Derek about automobiles, which Derek sold. She knew the old dear had very little interest in them, but at least he had made an effort.

But after Derek had left, he had drawn her aside, and said, "Are you very sure that he is worthy of you, Susan?" It was the same question that asked by her father or brothers drove her to furious retort, but coming from that gentle old soul, she could not be cross. She had just given him a kiss on the cheek and said, "Nobody's perfect, Professor." And he had nodded sagely--oh, she missed him!

The two men escorted her to a pew near the front, and Richard sat next to her, while the Professor went up to the dais and sat on a chair next to some other older men--obviously they would be speaking during the service.

Susan cast a glance at her companion. She knew only what Peter and Edmund had told her of him--he, like Peter, wished to enter the clergy, and would be taking up a position as a curate after he finished university next term. She seemed to recall Edmund saying that Richard also was a cricketer. But they had never told her any other personal details about him. She remembered Lucy asking Edmund and Peter about his family and whether he had any girlfriends, and Edmund laughing and saying, "Just like a girl, wanting to know all sorts of unimportant things about a chap," and Lucy's retort, "Just like a boy, not to know what is really important!" And all of them had laughed at the old argument.

But then the holiday had been spoiled. The others all wanted to talk about their old game of make-believe, about "Narnia" and talking animals and being kings and queens, and Susan just couldn't see the appeal of that.

_"What wonderful memories you all have!" she had laughed. "Fancy your still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children!"_

Peter and Edmund had given her an annoyed look, and Lucy one of hurtful reproach, and Eustace had muttered crossly "Hmph. Your memory isn't so wonderful!"

Susan felt quite irritated with them all, and besides, Derek had arrived, and she had an invitation to a party that night. So she'd given a careless shrug and walked off. But she could overhear them--

"She has forsaken Narnia." Peter's voice had been stern.

But Edmund said "Once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen in Narnia," and the way he said that made her shudder.

The next time they had all been together, Susan had felt like an outsider; Peter and Edmund were now both at university, and all their talk was of things in which she had no interest; Lucy had taken a job as a nursemaid, but she seemed to be perfectly willing to listen to her brothers talking of their boring classes. They seemed very impatient of Susan when she wished to talk of her own job--why she was working as a shopgirl in a very fashionable boutique, and the customers were all very interesting: wealthy, all of them, and some of them famous!

If only she'd known it would be the last time she'd see them: she'd have hung on every word, she'd have listened avidly to all of it. What she would not give to have them annoy her again!

Susan looked about her, trying to shut out the uncomfortable memories. There was a stirring, and she realized the priest was reading the psalm...

_"Lord, thou hast been our refuge: from one generation to another. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever the earth and the world were made: thou art God from everlasting, and world without end. Thou turnest man to destruction: again thou sayest, Come again, ye children of men. For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday: seeing that is past as a watch in the night..."_

The words washed over her, and she tuned them out. She had heard them far too often in the last few weeks. She tried to make her mind a blank, gazing up at the high vaulted ceiling, and at the stained glass windows, anything to keep from thinking, from remembering...

She did not recall when the priest had finished, but she was startled to hear the authoritative voice of Professor Lewis. When had he gone to the lectern?

"I knew Professor Kirke for many years; he was a good friend and wise colleague. And he was rightfully proud of his young friends, Peter and Edmund Pevensie, who, unlike many young men of this generation, shared with him a faith in that which must remain unseen. Digory Kirke had a sense of wonder about his faith that is rare. He held a belief in a far better world than the one in which we now live and breathe, and his belief was as solid and unshakeable as if he had seen that world with his waking eyes."

Susan felt startled. A flash of sensation, a flutter of possibility--and she shuddered. For some reason, the Professor's voice was piercing her in a way all the previous eulogies and ceremonies had not.

"We mourn this tragic loss because it is a loss for us. We miss our friends and family--their presence is gone from our lives.

And yet, it is possible to take comfort in the knowledge that they have gone on to something far higher and more glorious than we are capable of comprehending with our poor senses, for they were Christians in the body of the Church.

The Church will outlive the universe; in it the individual person will outlive the universe. Everything that is joined to the immortal Head will share His immortality."

Once more Susan felt that shudder, as though something momentous hovered over her.

"If we do not believe it, let us be honest and relegate the Christian faith to museums. If we do, let us give up the pretence that it makes no difference. For this is the real answer to every excessive claim made by the collective. It is mortal; we shall live for ever. There will come a time when every culture, every institution, every nation, the human race, all biological life is extinct, and every one of us will still be alive. Immortality is promised to us, not to these generalities. It was not for societies or states that Christ died, but for men. In that sense Christianity must seem to secular collectivists to involve an almost frantic assertion of individuality. But then it is not the individual who will share Christ's victory over death. We shall share that Victory by being in the Victor. A rejection, in the Scripture's strong language, a crucifixion of the natural self is the passport to everlasting life. Nothing that has not died will be resurrected."

Suddenly, as though something had shattered in her, Susan remembered, remembered that horrible night, and that glorious Dawn! Aslan! How could she have ever forgotten? And how was it she had never understood? He had sent them home, with the instructions to seek Him there. And all of the others had followed his command--but she, she had not. She had turned away, hurt by what she had seen as His rejection in taking away His presence. Now she realised what He had meant, and what His identity was in this world.

Oh! How I've failed You, she thought.

And then she heard the warm and beloved Voice she had never thought to hear again.

_"You have not failed, my child, you have but turned aside from the Path for a while. It is only failure if the task is never completed."_

"But what task is there to complete now? The others, they answered Your call. I remained behind."

"Your task is not their task. Walk forward, Daughter of Eve, and remember."

She had not heard the ending of the Professor's eulogy, but the choir had begun to sing.

 _"Te Deum Patrem colimus,_  
Te Laudibus prosequimus,  
qui corpus cibo reficis,  
coelesti mentem gratia.

Te adoramus, O Jesu,  
Te, Fili unigenite,  
Te, qui non dedignatus es  
subire claustra Virginis..."

Susan realized she was weeping only when Richard offered her a handkerchief. But these were not tears of pain, but of sweet release.

As the mourners began to file out, Susan touched Richard's arm hesitantly. "Do you suppose that Professor Lewis would have time to talk to me?"

He smiled at her, and said, "We will ask him."

And so the three of them walked beneath the canopy of trees, along Addison's Walk, and they talked for a good long time, before the Professor had to plead other obligations, and left her with Richard.

And the two of them talked even longer, until with a start, they realized it was time for her to take the return train.

But somehow, Susan knew she would return.

  
  
She had found that it was easier than she had thought it would be to break off with Derek. He seemed to feel that she was no longer so much fun to be with as she had been, and no wonder, but he was almost unflatteringly eager to accept it when she had told him she did not think they had a future together. It was painful, and yet, not so painful as she had expected. She had come to understand that Derek was more self-absorbed than she had realised.  
  
There was nothing to keep her in London. Aunt Alberta and Uncle Harold were her only living relatives, and they seemed to blame her family for Eustace's death. They wanted nothing to do with her. They were planning to take a world cruise to try and get over the death of their only son.  
  
She had sold her parents' home. It was sad, for there were many good memories there; but she was ready for a change--a real change. She found a flat in Oxford, and a new job in a small shop, not so fashionable nor so exciting as the one where she had worked in London, but owned by a congenial and motherly older woman.  
  
She found herself spending a good deal of time with Peter's friend Richard, and from time to time, she met Professor Lewis again.  
  
And when Richard left to take his post up as a curate--she accompanied him as his bride.  
  
The years passed, and she found herself a vicar's wife in a small town, and the mother of five children: Lucy, Polly, Peter, Edmund and Jill. Her husband's parishioners found in her always a sympathetic listener, and she was loved by all for her gentle heart.  
  
Now she looked about her, at the shining faces of her children, her grandchildren, her great-grandchildren. How dear they all were! But it was time. Richard had gone long before her, and she was more than ready to join him, and to see once more the parents, the brothers, the sister who had left so abruptly on their appointed task.  
  


  
  
Susan looked around her. But--this was Narnia! Yet--  
  
"I thought I was never to come to Narnia again," she said in wonderment.  
  
 _"This is New Narnia, Daughter of Eve."_  
  
In delight, Susan turned, to see the One she loved best, in His form as Aslan. "Oh, Aslan!" And her laughter rang out for sheer joy.  
  
 _"Well done, Susan my child. And here come those whom you long have missed."_  
  
And there they were: her Richard, looking hale and young again; her brothers, Peter and Edmund; her sister Lucy; her parents; Professor Digory, Aunt Polly, Eustace and Jill--all of them. Behind them--oh, there were Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, and Mr. Tumnus, and Caspian...  
  
Her heart full, she turned to thank Aslan, but he was no longer there.  
  
Richard took her hand in his, and Peter said, "He's still here, He is always and forever here! Can't you feel it?"  
  
And Susan could, in the very breath she took.  
  
Then Lucy came and embraced her. "But He's not a tame lion, after all."  
  


  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: There are quotations from The Last Battle , Chapter 12, "Through the Stable Door"; the psalm is Psalm 90: 1-4; and the majority of the eulogy given by "Professor Lewis" came from the The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses "Membership".  
  
The Latin hymn sung at the end of the memorial service is the traditional hymn sung at all important College occasions, according to [the magdalen website](http://www.magd.ox.ac.uk/history/cc_hymnus.shtml). 

 


End file.
